


You Don't Know What You Got...

by rubychan05



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubychan05/pseuds/rubychan05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had never been interested in love.</p><p>Not to say that observing its effects upon the general populace wasn’t interesting, of course. Half the crimes he encountered were motivated by love and, whilst the concept itself baffled him, the results often kept his mind busy for several days. </p><p>But to actually be interested, beyond the realms of the criminal? The idea was laughable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Know What You Got...

Sherlock had never been interested in love.

Not to say that observing its effects upon the general populace wasn’t interesting, of course. Half the crimes he encountered were motivated by love and, whilst the concept itself baffled him, the results often kept his mind busy for several days.

But to actually be interested, beyond the realms of the criminal? The idea was laughable. Sherlock spent most of his time despairing over the sheer ignorance of everyone he encountered; to be trapped in a relationship with one of those idiots, to spend an inordinate amount of time with them…the mere thought was enough to make him shudder. He simply couldn’t fathom why people felt the urge to spend the rest of their lives with the same person – surely they would get bored of each other in the end. Whilst it was true that the average person didn’t possess Sherlock’s quick brain, there must be a limit to the number of things to be learned about one’s partner.

He’d experimented with love of course, back in the days of university. Whilst his flatmates were content screwing around and testing out the boundaries of their sexuality, Sherlock had used the time to research his own emotional responses. He’d chosen a fellow Chemistry student, a sweet young girl who should have been everything he wanted, if he were to believe the endless rubbish airing over the radio. She’d blushed at his interest and spent the next three weeks helping him with his lab tests, occasionally managing to drag him out to see a boring film or take a walk through the park.

Sherlock had gone through the motions, devoting as much of his time to her as he could give, observing her reactions to his attitude and adjusting it to keep her happy. He’d tried to drag up some sort of feeling towards her, some urge to keep her close, some innate desire to spend the rest of his university years, if not his life, with her. Yet all he’d been able to accomplish was the vague idea that Mycroft would probably be pleased that he’d got himself a girlfriend, which was a wretched idea and did more harm than good.

There had been nothing else however and he’d broken the thing off a few days later. Four more failed relationships later, with members of both genders, he had come to the conclusion that he was aromantic and simply moved onto more important things.

It is perhaps not surprising then, that the first time he falls in love Sherlock is caught entirely unawares.

Police sirens are screaming in the distance, lost amongst the sound of hammering rain but drawing inexorably closer. Sherlock shivers, his clothes entirely soaked through and his hair plastered to his forehead, water streaming down his face and making it hard to see.

The pool of red spreads outwards from him, mingling with the puddles and dyeing them pink. His chest hurts, something broken inside him, and he chokes against the lump in his throat. He wants it all to be over, wants the pain to stop and the burning in his eyes to go away and leave him in peace.

On the ground John lets out a horrible gurgling sound and Sherlock numbly pulls his head onto his lap. Maybe elevation will help stop the fluid from choking him. John cries out at the movement, jerking in pain and sending more blood spilling out over Sherlock’s fingers. Sherlock grimaces, pressing his hand more firmly against the wound and trying to ignore the corresponding yelp that escapes John’s lips.

“Sh…erlock…” John gasps and Sherlock bites his lip, scowling down at the doctor,

“Shut up.” He snarls, pressing down harder. “It’s your own damn fault. You wouldn’t have a bullet in your chest if you’d just stayed down like I told you to!”

“Had to…save…you…”

“And now you’re bleeding out. Oh well done, John, good show!” Sherlock snaps, dimly aware that there’s a vaguely hysterical note to his sarcasm. Damn war heroes, damn doctors, damn John. How dare he push Sherlock out the way and take the bullet himself? How dare he?

The criminal escaped. Yet Sherlock couldn’t care less at the moment, because John is dying and there is nothing more important to him than…

Sherlock freezes, eyes going wide. It’s not possible. He did the research, he’s not capable of…yet all he can think about right now is how special John is, how much he wants him to live. He wants to go back to Baker Street and spend the next god knows how many years listening to John moan about the eyeballs in the microwave. He wants to wake up to the sound of John clattering around the kitchen, making tea just the way Sherlock likes it.

He wants John.

Smiling, he looks down at John, anxious to share his newest deduction with him. Only for the smile to slip away as he realises that John’s chest is no longer rising, that the doctor’s lips are slack and that there is no longer a heartbeat beneath his glove.

“John?”

“John, are you still there?” Sherlock pauses, waiting for a reply. It’s harder to see now, and not all the water is rain. Another first for him.

“John…please…” The words are fragile, whispered, and Sherlock begins to laugh, a rasping mockery of the real thing.

How fitting that he acknowledges his first love the moment that all hope for a future with him is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you hadn't noticed, I love angst. Writing it, anyway - for some reason I require happy endings when reading, but can't help torturing characters when writing! And the whole dying-before-knowing-how-much-I-love-you trope is one of my favourites.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr under [rubychan05](http://rubychan05.tumblr.com/).


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